Modo and the Lesson of Fundamental Magic
by The Shadowy Phantom
Summary: Modo is tending to the roses when the Chair of Indefinite Studies decides to take Modo under his wing!  What will happen?  Rated T for three cursewords.  No spoilers.


**I do not own any characters, creatures, etc. from Discworld. And it seems a moot point to mention it.**

Fundamentals

It was a fine day at the UU, and the birds were twittering (in deep bass tones), and the sun was shining (blue rays of light, that is), and explosions were sounding out from the High Energy Building (and screams of agony as well). Modo was out and about, trimming the rose bushes that were reaching out towards his wheelbarrow. He was humming a drinking song that he had learned from the Librarian, who could really carry a tune despite his inability to vocalize most words.

The Chair of Indefinite Studies was not having a good day. His students were uppity young . . . upstarts, and they thought they knew it _all_ concerning wizardry. The insolence they had shown to him annoyed him to no end, and not only was he mocked by the students, but his peers were at it too! Well, he could _certainly_ teach them a thing or two! Why, he ought to-

Meanwhile, Modo was still faithfully tending to the rose bushes when he heard a _thwump_ near him. He peered around the bush he was working on to find that the Chair of Indefinite Studies had fallen flat on his face, due to a lone shovel lying conspicuously on the ground; Modo could almost _hear_ the rose bushes chuckling. He scurried over to where the stricken wizard lay, and helped him up; all the while the professor was cursing a blue streak.

"You alright sir?"

"Yes, yes, I should think so . . . why in Blind Io's name is there a shovel lying about? Someone could trip and break his bloody neck!"

At this point in the conversation, Modo turned to glare at the rosebushes, all of them seemed to be exuding a false innocence; this didn't fool Modo at all.

"Well sir, I am sorry. I'll be more careful-"

"Oh, what's the use? No one seems to care about anything anymore," muttered the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"What's that sir?"

"Schooling, learning, and the fundamentals of wizardry! The students don't care, and the staff couldn't give a flying fart! Honestly, it's enough to drive a devotee of education up the wall!" The Chair of Indefinite Studies was well on his way to a rambling rant, and Modo was anxious to get away from the rosebushes, as they were clearly plotting some new mischief that could result in severe maiming.

"Let me tell you something, Modo; if you want to learn, you really need the _desire_ to learn! Not just for bragging rights, to say that you're a so-and-so level wizard, but because you _want_ to learn for the sake of learning! That's where the education process begins, you see!"

"Sir, perhaps we should get away from the rosebushes now, since-"

"Yes, yes, of course; I've a solution to this conundrum! If those dunderheads won't listen to me, _you_ could be my personal student!"

Modo was struck dumb at this comment, and at length, remarked, "But sir, I'm not a wizard, and-"

"Pish-posh! You'll do fine, and I'll show those bastards who's who, and what's what! I'll show them I can still impart some wisdom worth knowing!"

And with that, the Chair of Indefinite Studies drug Modo away, just as a pair of gardening shears flew past the Chair's head.

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"Now, my dear pupil, what do you know about basic wizardry?" bellowed the Chair to Modo, who was fidgeting in his seat.

"Well, sir, er . . ."

"Hmm . . . a beginner then. No matter! No matter! The first lesson concerns the proper use of wizardry; how, when, where, on whom, on what, and why to use spells! As a general, unspoken rule, wizards do not use spells upon other wizards. Do you know why this is so?"

"Er . . ."

"Yes?"

"Well, I suppose . . . because . . . most wizards are bunglers?"

" . . . Er, no, old chap, I think I need to go over this a bit more. Generally, a wizard does not attack another wizard using spells because: a.) it is considered most cowardly and ungentlemanly behavior and b.) most wizards have protection spells on them at all times. Assassination using more . . . "common" methods was frequent in earlier ages, due to the fact that lower-leveled wizards wished to eliminate competition and also wished to elevate themselves further by creating a vacancy. It was never considered sporting to use magic to inhume a fellow wizard. In fact, far back into the youth of Discworld, there was a wizard by the name of Grimley the Foul who . . ."

The next thing Modo felt was the world going upside-down. Or rather, himself being tilted upside-down. He opened his eyes and righted himself before he could fall completely off the chair. The Chair of Indefinite Studies was still on his monologue, and showed no signs of stopping; there was a dreamy look in his eyes as he reminisced about some wizard who dueled another wizard and . . . Modo drew himself up again, shook his head free of cobwebs, and coughed rather loudly.

The Chair looked startled and indignant. "I say chap, it's one thing to counterfeit snoring in the middle of my retelling of the Ballad of Grimley the Foul's Downfall, but it's quite another to interrupt!"

"Sir . . . I think it's getting rather late, and-"

"Oh, of course! You wish to tell all about Grimley and the basics of wizardry, I imagine! Oh, and perhaps to the whole school! Yes, it's still suppertime, and I think if we hurry, we can still catch most of them while they're eating their fourth desserts!"

Modo went pale at this suggestion, and was about to open his mouth to inquire if he could just go back to tending the roses, but the Chair dragged him down to the Great Hall.

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All was a blur to poor Modo, until he was standing in front of ninety-six point six percent of the student body (the six percent were two rather skinny wizards, both of whom resembled toothpicks next to the rest of the throng). He looked for guidance and for reprieve from the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who only smiled and ribbed the Dean who was glowering next to him. Modo looked all around at the students; some of them were giggling at him. Modo then cleared his throat, and began.

"Well, y'see, wizards . . . aren't really supposed to use magic on other wizards, because of protective spells and the like. Also, it's considered unsporting, and . . . Grimley the Foul was a . . . erm . . . a . . . rotten, flea-ridden bastard who couldn't aim worth a damn. And that's all I recall. Thank you," Modo took a bow, and departed from the hall, leaving the student body and the staff in silence. After a few minutes, a great roar of laughter came rolling through the doors, and the Chair skulked out of there as only a wizard could; with his hat hung low over his eyes, and his staff nestled beneath his left arm.

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"I'm sorry that I nodded off, sir, and for mixing up Grimley the Foul with Beorned the Cowardly," Modo muttered to the inert form of the Chair of Indefinite Studies.

"Mmph," came the garbled reply.

"What was that sir?"

"Go away you beastly little man, and pick up your bloody gardening tools! I found a rake planted right in front of me when I was taking a stroll through the grounds!" snarled the Chair.

"Well then sir, I'll be off."

"Good riddance."

"Sir? Just so you know, I never had anyone tutor me in anything before-"

"I wonder why," murmured the Chair under his breath.

"And I really . . . erm . . . uh . . . 'appreciate' the sentiment of it, sir, even if I couldn't stay awake, sir."

"Modo," croaked the Chair, lifting his head from the desk.

"Yes sir?"

"Bugger off, and don't let me catch you near me again, you hear?"

"Yes sir, right sir."

And with that, Modo ran off, leaving the Chair to his first class of the day.


End file.
